Welcome to Motor City Burning: World of Darkness online role playing game. Due to the graphic, predatory nature of the violence and adult activities Kindred, Hunters, and the Created take part in, we require all players to be 18 years of age or older. If you are at least 18 and would like to play with us, hit the "Register" key and come on in!

The shelter was nearly filled to capacity, literally jam packed,a seething mass of humanity that made if difficult to even move about. There was a certain tension in the air as well but also a sense of weary relief. The ragged and desperate people here could at least be assured of not freezing to death tonight. These were the fortunate ones...

The people not so fortunate were swarming outside of the shelter, pressing against the weary staff, who were desperately trying to hold the masses back. Occasionally someone would push their way into the shelter, causing a stir. There was a sense that the chaos of outside could spill into here at any moment, unsettling the tense calm.

This is where the created find themselves tonight. In the middle of the coldest winter, and amidst record high unemployment and discontent. Humanity was on edge...

Rule: Arctic cold weather. Characters can withstand the cold outside for a number of hours equal to their stamina. After that they take 1 bashing damage for 1 hour of additional exposure. [activating autonomic control transmutation prevents damage]

Harold wore a red triple goose coat, ruggied think black pants, and a thick yellow skullcap. Though he barely felt the bite of the elements, hot or cold, he didnt like to appear more then a man. He didn't want to cause waves more then his condition would on its own. He gazed amongst the crowd and looked for the sick more then the huddled masses almost as a reflex. He couldn't resist the temptation to heal the sick when he could. He went where the wind took him and never looked back, he was in no rush to complete his pilgrimage nor was he turning his back on it. In his mind life was life promethan life was no less sacride then any other.

Spoiler:

So everyone knows I look like a medical dummy that got every horrible elemental damage done to it. My normal pic for him is in my signature, the pic for his true face is a bit more 1950's nuclear test dummy then that pic, but it's really close

Ben, out walking in his usual attire of heavy duty jeans, work boots, and an old White Zombie t-shirt with a rather battered old military style field jacket and a backpack slung on his back, had walked into the city to find some spare parts for his makeshift home. When he rounded a corner, he saw a building teeming with activity, and he felt compelled to watch and try to see just what it was this group was attempting to achieve.

There were some people who seemed to be at odds with the larger group... perhaps keeping them away? Was the building important? Ben stood quietly up at the corner and watched.

Mark walks down the street, his black suit and sunglasses making him look the image of the stereotypical government agent. The only thing ruining the image is a strange looking bag slung over one shoulder. Well, that, and the fact that he's obviously made from steel and plastic to those capable of seeing his more supernatural nature.

He strides up to the employees of the building, reaching into his coat and flashing an ID at them.

"Mark Wilkes, Department of the Treasury. Do you require police assistance?"

(OOC: Bag looks like this: http[colon]//www[dot]copsplus[dot]com/prodnum2182.php; I'd post a link, but the forum's anti-spambot software won't let me for a few more days, it looks like. Also, I'm assuming we're all close enough to detect each other's Azothic radiance.)

Harold didn't like the feeling of this crowd but he didnt fear being beat to death, he had been beaten to death so many times it was like falling off a log. He did feel the azoth of others of his kind and this intrigued him. Promethan's were a mixed bag, most were war machines with self esteem issues, it took him years to get over the self loathing himself so he didn't tend to judge. He stepped through the crowd to make sure the others were close enough to see him and feel him. He thought he saw another unfleshed, a rare find indeed but he wasn't sure about the other just yet. He positioned himself so that either could clearly see him

Spoiler:

What does everyone look like? FYI spoilers are located in the toolbar option under Other

If Ben feels the call of Azoth, he doesn't show it. He realizes others there can likely see him for what he truly looks like... skin like grey stone with cracks of varying depths... in fact, it's his own appearance that led him to take his name from one of the comics he found in his first days. Ben Grimm was obviously based on the Tammuz, and showed one can be a hero in the world.

Ben noticed two others as he scanned the mass of people, Prometheans made differently than he was. Made differently than the handful of Prometheans he had met in his months of wandering. He had been told there were others out there, this only proved it. As much as he wanted to know about them, he didn't want to get close to an already upset crowd of people. He didn't want to exacerbate the situation. And what was so important about that building anyway?

Harold casually made his way through the crowd. He moved at a leisurely pace showing no signs of urgency, that was an emotion he rarely felt no matter the situation. He stood next to Ben casually because he seemed to not be talking to anyone directly. He stood in arms reach but didn't really state the obvious, hey we're both animated by the divine flame, he just stood close and casual. He scanned the crowd assesses everyone's potential medical illment. Though he didn't say anything it was obvious his presence was meant to be a show of acknowledgment and that he meant no disrespect. He didn't yet have anything he wanted to say and he wasn't in a particular rush. He'd eventually talk to the Tammuz and eventually find out what the people in the shelter planned to do with their overcrowding problem.

Harold smirks slightly, smug and neutral being his default expression. "As far as I can tell its a homeless shelter, being as cold as it is everyone wants to get in tonight, and I don't think they've got the room for it. Wonder what the mob will do, these things tend to go either way", said Harold wondering in his head how many of these people he would be able to set up in a hotel room and who if the shelter didn't cram in more people.

They are staring at him, he hates when people stare, he isn’t quite sure why they do, but they eventually always do it, somehow, he is always off, even when he tries to fit in, is it his face? People always call him ‘pretty boy’ or stuff like that, maybe it’s that, maybe it’s because he is too short, people always treat him like a child because of that, short and thin, they assume he is weak, or maybe he just picked the wrong t-shirt to steal.

If he’d knew more about them, he could figure it out quite easily, it’s the fact that he is wearing a t-shirt and jeans, with thin cloth sneakers coming in from the worst winter ever seeing in the city, and despite his skin being pale, he doesn’t seem cold at all...

If they bother you, you can always just shove them out of your way

A voice only he can hear sounds almost on his ear, like urging him to show who is boss.

As a natural reaction, pure instinct, he meets the gaze of some of them, his dark eyes, at least as they see them, and his delicate features set in an almost clashing ‘What the fuck are ye lookin’ at?' expression, the thin scar on his left cheek almost making him seem menacing, if just barely, more attitude then anything.

That seems enough to get them look away, at least most of them, for now.

The young looking promethean, barely looking old enough to be on his own, if that, breathes in heavily, thin, long arms at his sides, almost ready to raise’em up and fight, his features set almost challengingly, he can feel it, they are here, even if he doesn’t know who ‘they’ are...

...That’s really the only reason he came.

Spoiler:

Chaser has Autonomic Control protecting him from the cold.

Appearance: Short that makes him look even younger than he should be, thin but athletic at the same time, lithe but obviously someone active, unkempt and yet strangely attractive (Cute some girls might say, handsome he would prefer, but the truth is somewhere in between, even if just that) even if in a wild way, dark hair undone in a small mane, deep and big, brown almost reddish eyes usually attentive for trouble, a single line scar running his left cheek giving a slight edge to his otherwise almost girly face.Despite the cold, he barely takes notice thanks to his nature, even now preferring little clothing, worn out jeans and t-shirts, even worse sneakers, whatever he can steal or find, taking more only if he deems necessary ‘fitting in’.When his disfigurement shows, his eyes are literally red, his skin grows paler, almost to the point of death, the scar on his cheek seems just barely bleed quite palpable darkness, his well defined body marked by the obvious places where his flesh was cut slashed open, not ripped or torn, not at least in the regular way, but cut wildly, shredded, broken to the bone, and is now hold together by this pitch black substance that sometimes acts solid as ebon and others drips like blood, every now and again a few ghostly lights flickering through it, as if there where eyes watching you from that abyss...

Harold looks to Ben manor of factly, and says, "I don't know this town that well, I'm sure their are other shelters, but they only have so much room. The people that don't get in will probably wonder the streets until daytime, train stations, bus stations, airports, loiter around a bit", Harold stopped to think about how much time he spent in all those places before he found a niche. "Most of them will be ok, but a few of them may die 4-5 tops", said Harold being as comfortable with death as he was with life, living in an out of hospitals made him completely numb to mortality, it was inevitable regardless of when, at least for humans. "If you have any people you feel particularly attached to let me know now before I pick a handful to get out of the cold", Harold said to Ben having no fear of strangers or trust. Harold had no problems talking to absolutely anyone and being extremely generous for no reason in particular, maybe deep down he was lonely or maybe he just didn't care either way, he never could fully grasp the meaning of his emotions.

"Hmmm..." Ben seems to be considering what was he was told. "Weather has never bothered me. I hadn't stopped to consider what it might do to others. I always just assumed weather is what happened around us."

The fact he doesn't even mention them dying, seemingly more interested in the fact that weather can be bad for people. With something of a start, he seems to remember the conversation and moves forward with it. "I've not been here long myself. I don't know any of them. I'm actually just out looking for a few things for my home. It's something of a... I believe the term is 'fixer-upper.'"

"if you're doing it right you should never be in town for long", he mumbled almost unconsciously. "You'll never know anyone if you don't talk to anyone", Harold said with a smile, seeing that for a promethan it was inevitable that you probably didn't know anyone. Harold got the distinct impression Ben wasn't that old, which made him extra careful now not to become the 'i told you so teacher character', over a potential friend. "I'm Harold by the way", said the medical dummy half heartedily extending his hand in attempts not to seem too aggressive or needy, because he was neither of those things... He was old enough to know better. "You feel comfortable enough to talk about your space?", Harold said without pressing the issue.

The feeling, the burning sensation of recognition, of kinship even, maybe, if just in acknowledgement then they walk the same lonesome road, he feels it in the dark spirit stuff that fills his veins instead of blood and that occupies the place where his soul should be, wrongly fitting into what it figures it must be, or better said, can only be for now, set aflame by the Divine Fire, it burns in kinship to those inside...

Azoth that calls to Azoth.

Crimson eyes focus on the two artificial beings speaking to each other as he closes to them with short steps, wondering why he feels such kinship to them, if they really look nothing like him, if anything, the rest of the people look more like him, at least, he figures, they are also made of flesh and bone, where he is made of the pieces torn from someone, while they are whole shouldn’t make as much a difference as those two, seeing they are made of...

...Stuff?

He isn’t good with talking to people, even though Prowler always tells him he should talk to them more, still he isn’t really nervous, is more that he doesn’t know what to tell them, how to start.

“Hi?” He almost asks, raising a hand in a weak attempt of a greeting, he swallows and scratches the back of his head, not really in the sort of embarrassed way people usually do, more in the way one tries to figure what he just did wrong, noticeably shorter and younger then both of them, at least physically, it also seems he has less experience in the pilgrimage then them.

Harold exhaled a long stream of cold fog and smiled at the new comer, he might have been ulgan... maybe, his need to diagnose things were not limited to creatures that were human in nature. The medical dummy turned his face towards the smaller promethan gazing upon him with his rubbery right eye that had been peppered and blackened with buckshot.

"Me, I'm just living life, seeing what I can do to help, maybe get into an adventure, I don't know yet, we'll have to see how it goes, it's too soon to tell now. Looks like their is going to be a lot to do in this town in the weeks to come. Hope I can get to it before I have to move on", Harold said including the newcomer showing absolutely no sign that he was offended or nervous by his presence. He spoke to him as if he was there all along. In Harold's experience that usually gave humans the chance to forget they didn't know him and skip over the introductions, that way he didn't have to elaborate on his past, though with promethans what you did and where you had been was very important, so he did plan on eventually getting to it.

Looking back at the group for a moment, he furrows his brow a bit and then gets back to the conversation. "I found it. It was below ground in an empty house. Very heavy door in the floor leading into it. Seems sturdy, and it's below ground. Not a lot of light though, even with electricity running. Hence my trip in.... Oh, hello. I was looking for things and got distracted by such a large group of people all wanting into that building," Ben says as this new one approached and spoke. He was... Ulgan was it? Yes, that sounded right. Ben had met one not long after waking up. "I'm Ben."

"Well call me when you get cable in that place", said Harold preferring a hotel room to any bootleg apartment underground, he had numerous reasons why he didn't stake claims anywhere that didn't have wheels, but he didn't plan to get into any of that as not to break anyone's spirits. "No but seriously if you need me to scavenge some parts if you know what they are maybe I can get them for you", said Harold. Money tended to solve most problems, and he wasn't planning on being broke ever again.

One of the volunteers, a middle aged pudgy woman starts making the rounds, conveying some message to the male residents at the shelter. Eventually she makes her way over to where you are, as a notable frown crosses her face.

“Hi we’re at capacity now, so we can’t take on anymore people unless someone leaves. We are looking for volunteers to leave the shelter to make room for women and children.” She looks at you expectantly, awaiting an answer.

Behind you, a couple of older men mumble something, shaking their heads. “Don’t do it man, this place got this jobs program opening tomorrow. You leave you ain’t gonna be able to enroll.” One of them nods his head. “Tha ain’t right, but I got to look out for myself

For a moment Chase dares a smile, bright, almost childish as the others receive him without much complain, one of them even presenting himself by name, a small part of him being emboldened by his own success…

“The name’s Chaser…Chase for my friends” He answered with that sly smile still playing on his gentle features as he rose a hand and pointed at himself with it, his own thumb almost touching his chest, confidence in his stance now that the ice had being broken.

You don’t have any……besides me of course.

A rumbling, growling voice sounded just a few steps behind him, the comment slightly souring the young Promethean’s smile, a soft laugh escaping the ephemeral fangs of the shadow of fear and pain that followed him everywhere, taking a form that much reminded of a hungry wolf sculpted from darkness and blood, a long maw smiling as he supposed the other two Created couldn’t hear or see him.

That was when the woman chooses to inform them they needed the space…

He wasn’t quite sure why the woman stared at them so intently, even though he really wouldn’t mind leaving, he has just found two creatures ‘like him’, even if he isn’t quite sure what exactly that means, he needs to stay, or at the very least, only go if they are going too, he thinks he overheard Ben mentioning something of another place to shelter in.

“Quiet ya” Chaser mutters, almost to himself as he turns too, only slightly, still not quite sure if he wants to pay no heed to the urgings of his ‘only friend’, better not test it too much, his features are obviously not nice as he look at the woman, his expression going back to the ‘Ya seriously tryin’ to mess with me!’ setting they usually show, even if just for an instant.

But breathing deep before looking at the other two over his shoulder, his smile returning if only a bit as he informs them “I only came here to find ya guys, so I don’t mind leavin’ if ya’re also goin’”

Spoiler:

The spirit following Chase is That-Which-Prowls-For-Blood, or Prowler for short...

Appearence: A ghostly and bloody apparition, almost as if it is indeed made of just that, darkness a blood, the same thing that holds his ‘master’ together, the same pitch black abyss with eyes, only this one also has fangs...His shape is pretty much that of a twisted mockery of a canine, a hell-hound of sorts, even going so far as to bare long ram-like horns, his body is thin and slick, muscles almost always drawn under the dark bloody fur, almost more a coyote then a wolf or even a dog, if such thing is possible, it walks on all fours but its front legs are slightly longer, paws twisted and long, almost resembling hands, even if armed with wicked talons, his posture is slightly hunched over, but its shape is long, its tail full and perpetually fading into the darkness.

"I'd never take someone's spot that needed it more then me", said Harold to the other 2 promethans and the woman asking us to step out of line. He looked to the man intent on snagging himself a job and said, "Good luck man, jobs aren't easy to come by I don't judge", he said with a completely neutral face.

Harold scanned the crowd for the oldest, youngest, and most infirm people waiting in the crowd that he knew were not getting in. He had money and a car and might be able to fit a family of no more then 5 in the bed of his truck seeing he had his motorcycle in a parking lot knowing it was much too cold to use it in this city in this time of year. "Of course you 2 are welcomed to stay at a hotel with me", said Harold. He only came to places like this to see who he could help, he himself needed very little to survive.

Spoiler:

So if you want to play out Harold asking random humans if they need a lift, and asking them if they wanted to cram in a hotel room you can. That's what he's doing looking for people that look like they wouldn't survive a night on the street and offering a hotel room, or at least a ride.

Just in case you need to make a roll for me to find the weakest people. You can roll it I don't really have control issues Int4 Wits2 Medicine4 (diagnoses) Investigate3 (medical conditions)

A crowd of around 50 people is swarming around the shelter, pressing against the volunteers. As soon as you leave the shelter, an equal number of ragged women and children are pushed into the building. Moments later, the solid doors slam shut and lock up tight. The crowd starts to seethe with anger at being left out in the cold…

Harold identifies four weak individuals, all of them elderly and appearing to be suffering from frost bite. But when he makes his offer known to them, word starts to circulate quickly.

“Hey yo, this guy’s got a car!”

“Who?”

“That big guy over there!”

Suddenly, Harold finds himself being swarmed from every side by the panicked crowd. One man, a younger fellow with a bulging gut and mean expression starts shoving and grabbing him.

“Gimme the keys man, gimme the keys, I gotta get warm man!” He shouts.

Harold smirked amused at the development, he was familiar with most human reactions, he didn't quite think it would happen so soon. "If you calm down and stop telling everyone I can help you", the medical dummy said calmly and in a lower voice, attempting to ease the situation. He saw this thing escalating, but it was a risk he planned for. He took his keys out ready to toss them in the crowd if he just got rushed. They didn't know where his car was anyways and he had another key, who would he give his spare too he had no friends or relatives.

Spoiler:

If he gets rushed he'll throw the keys into the crowd, and if that doesn't work he'll shoot a few shots in the air. And if that doesn't work after he takes a few good shots he'll play dead (Autonomic control Stam4 + Sub1 + playing dead+1). Though if their is any time he thinks he can slip away he'll do that, a distraction with the keys, a gun shot whatever. Personally I don't know who would have his spare but him so I'm operating under the assumption I have another key, but even if I don't I doubt i'll do anything different